


Work your magic on me

by Beezarre (Dibee)



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena Secret Santa, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, lots of fluff and some questionable puns, mentions of Jason and Guinevere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibee/pseuds/Beezarre
Summary: 5 times Bernie was there for Serena, and one time the roles were reversed.A #berenasecretsanta 2018 fic for the lovely @lesbianishstuff!The prompt was: "Serena gets hurt, Bernie helps."





	Work your magic on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fanofthearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanofthearts/gifts).



> Hi! This is your (not so Secret anymore) Santa/Satan! Word of warning, this contains Feels. I hope it’ll make you smile and cheer you up!
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> The last but one segment has a link at the beginning to the music piece it is describing.

*

  
“I’m fine.”

“Try saying that again without flinching.”

They were in their office, Bernie’s soft voice hoping to soften the blow and appease her co-lead. She put her hand on her shoulder almost hesitantly, standing next to her. Serena tensed before letting go, smiling up at her apologetically.

It had happened brutally, the patient calm one moment, having her pinned against the wall the next, almost chocking her in a sudden fit of rage. There was still a mark on her throat and one of her shoulders hurt from the impact. It wasn’t her first encounter with a violent patient, it came with the job, but it was always a bitter reminder.

“Dinner at mine?” Bernie’s voice was ever softer, Serena slowly melting. She nodded. Jason was with Alan, and she didn’t fancy going home alone after a day like this. She glared at Bernie when she tried to help with her coat though, making the trauma surgeon pout. Damn was that woman infuriatingly cute.

They walked out side by side, falling into pace in comfortable silence. Bernie would cook, only needing to get a couple items first, leaving Serena time to take an extra long shower.

By the time Serena got to Bernie’s she had put the dinner underway, all rosy cheeks and puppy smile. Serena glared at her again when she helped her out of her coat, Bernie mock-bowing. She was fully forgiven as Serena spotted the bottle Bernie had opened for them. Bernie was more of a white wine girl, but it appeared that Serena’s taste for Shiraz was catching. Her choice was perfect. Bernie poured them both a glass, holding hers up and meeting her eyes.

“To you.”

“Why me? You’re the one who saved the day!”

“You exist, I think that’s a big enough feat to toast to.” Bernie’s words had somehow gotten meddled, like they were spilling from her lips before she had time to really think them through and Serena forgot what she was about to say, smiling and looking away.

“To us then.” When she looked up there was a hint of surprise in Bernie’s eyes, and hope, she thought.

“To us.”

They took the first sip in silence, both reminiscing. Bernie hadn’t been far, and had been beside her in seconds. Having a big macho army medic on hand in case of an emergency like that did help. They were trained for situations like these, but Raf and Morven combined had nothing on Major Wolfe, who had the patient away from her and under gentle but firm control in one fluid movement. That hadn’t helped Serena’s breathing.

It was easy to forget she was strong, not just psychologically but also physically. Most people said of Serena that she was stronger than she looked, which came with practice rather than intent. For Bernie it had been partly training, and wanting to stay in shape, too.

She knew Bernie liked to go for runs whenever their schedules allowed, and had spent long hours trying not to think about that. It was a good thing her mind didn’t have a pedometer or it would be frightening to see the mileage on her thoughts sometimes, when the trauma surgeon was involved.

She often wondered what it had really been like, with the RAMC, how she behaved, how she worked, knowing she’d never get to know this side of her, part of her glad she wouldn’t have to see the stricter side, while the other yearned to discover the more relaxed comradeship in her.

“Dinner is done in a minute.” Bernie’s voice brought her back to reality and she nodded with a smile. She didn’t ask. It smelled good, nothing she could identify, but she knew Bernie to be a good cook. Serena did know how to cook, she’d just never really taken the time to perfect it. Bernie seemed to have the same approach to cooking as she did medicine, knowing how to be daring and knowing when it would pay off. Luckily she didn’t treat the dishes quite like she treated the paperwork, or was Serena the dishwasher in that equation?

Serena watched Bernie watch her as she tasted her food. How someone who cooked so well could stay this lean was a complete mystery to her. It would be a shame for Bernie not to fit in those sinfully tight jeans of hers though. Serena felt herself relax, their conversation drifting to more mundane things, car troubles, bad neighbours, before landing on their children and cute childhood moments.

They hadn’t talked about work in any way, not even hinted at it, and it was still comfortable. Work wasn’t what kept their bond from breaking, it had only been the facilitator. They had more in common than their drive and their love for medicine.

There was something about the way Bernie talked about her children that made Serena smile. She missed them, and lived through the memories she shared, which she so rarely did. For all the time she spent away, Serena still felt like Bernie had more tangible memories of her children than she had of Elinor, maybe because Bernie always made a point of making it extra special when she did have time with them. As Bernie described Cameron as a terror Serena shivered. Best not to introduce him to Elinor!

Bernie hadn’t prepared anything for dessert but ice cream seemed to be her go-to in moments of need. They found themselves comfortably sat on the couch, a tub each, wrapped in what Serena could only describe as some of the most comfortable covers she’d ever had the chance to be wrapped in. This felt good, right even, like the burden was slowly lifted off her shoulders.

Bernie needed company too, Serena realised. Maybe they should make a habit of it, this spending evenings together. Maybe even fish and chips night, Jason seemed to like Bernie a lot, he probably wouldn’t oppose to her joining them. Serena rested her head against the sofa, taking a ridiculously large spoonful out of the tub. Her best friend and ice cream had really been all she’d needed after today.

 

**

“Ow!”

“Everything alright?” Bernie called from the sofa, she’d been trying to find the right channel, Jason’s documentary was starting soon, and had been distracted by a quizz show whose answer was right on the tip of her tongue. Turning to Serena she missed it, and frowned at her partner’s waving off her concern. Abandoning the remote and springing forward, she reached out to Serena with questions in her eyes.

“I burnt my tongue.” Serena pointed at the spoon she’d been using to stir the pasta sauce. Bernie had offered to cook but Jason was adamant that he preferred this recipe when Serena was the one preparing it. Serena tried not to take it personally that he preferred it when Bernie did virtually anything else.

“Need me to kiss it better?”

“It can’t hurt.”

Serena was already in her arms, settled like she belonged there, which she very much did. They kissed slowly, only parting for air, going for a second helping when Jason pointed out he was still in the room, something both of them had temporarily forgotten.

“Let’s call this first aid.” Bernie’s wink made Serena grin.

“Shall I expect a thorougher examination later?”

 

***

It was a dark and stormy night. Had it been days, weeks, months now since the sun had last shone on her, Serena wasn’t sure. All she could do was exist, and even that took effort.

Her evenings were almost always identical. Home, shoes off, too little food washed down with too much wine in front of the telly, just to have a background noise, anything but silence. Her only flicker of light in the darkness was Bernie.

She always rang, then knocked, but knew to let herself in, Serena often still sat in the same position by the time she reached the couch. She’d let herself sink into her partner’s embrace.

Bernie didn’t talk, never talked. Knew words were too much, or thought hers weren’t enough. Whichever it was she respected Serena’s silence, Serena’s space. She’d lower the volume on the tv, make her what she called her special warm chocolate, with a mix of spices Serena couldn’t quite guess but always felt right, and she’d sit with her.

She wouldn’t sit too close, leaving Serena the choice whether to cuddle or just be there, but she’d hold her hand, brushing her thumb past her knuckles. Sometimes Serena would let herself slide in her lap, let Bernie card her fingers through her hair, turn away from her so she couldn’t see her tears, although she knew Bernie could tell she was sobbing.

Bernie rarely stayed the night, Serena preferring to be alone, a self-inflicted exile that hurt them both in the end. Sometimes she’d be there come morning because Serena had fallen asleep in her arms on the couch and she hadn’t wanted to wake her up, trying all day to hide the pain in her back. Sometimes Serena would just hold her hand, let her stay, let her wrap her up in her arms and seek shelter there.

The bed was the only place Bernie really talked. She talked in whispers, told Serena just how much she was loved, by her and so many others. Sometimes Serena would kiss her, just to make her stop, and she’d feel her tentatively reach a little further. Sometimes, rarely, Serena would let go.

Making love with Bernie had always taken her breath away, but in moments like these it felt like coming up for air. She’d nestle in her arms, let Bernie’s love work like a balm on her broken heart. It wouldn’t heal the cracks, but it kept it together.

 

****

“Madame Campbell, comment vous sentez vous?”

Serena had never been opposed to having someone talk French to her in bed, but this was not a scenario she had ever considered. She felt someone squeeze her hand and turned her head in the opposite direction to meet Bernie’s concerned eyes, topped by quizzical eyebrows.

“As good as you can expect, considering.” Her muttering as she turned back to the doctor peering at her from the foot of the bed seemed to confuse him somewhat. He looked around, possibly hoping for a providential bilingual nurse. Finding none, he attempted to conduct the rest of the steps in English, to Serena’s dismay.

“Je vais très bien.” In fact she would be even better if he could stop slaughtering English. No, she felt no nausea, yes she was feeling somewhat dizzy, no she wasn’t in pain. She frowned at his last question, letting Bernie translate with the hint of a smirk. Yes, she had someone who could spend the night with her once released. She’d be there at least until the next day though… And she knew Bernie wouldn’t leave her side if she could.

  
Things had gone amazingly since Bernie had arrived. Well, the first few hours had been tentative, dancing around one another. After some more dancing in a slightly more horizontal position they’d fallen asleep, and revelled in the feeling of waking up in their lover’s arms.

Serena had complained of sharp pains, but had brushed it off, and Bernie had been too keen to do, well, anything she could with her that she’d let it slide. Landing in the emergency service of the nearest hospital had not made their to-do list, but there they had found themselves, looking around, finding all the similarities rather unnerving, and the differences somewhat disturbing.

They’d been lucky enough to meet a doctor who was both fluent and not patronising. Serena would later report to Bernie just how annoying the anaesthetist had been, making her laugh as Serena compared the poor woman to her ex husband.

So no, Serena wasn’t in pain. In fact she couldn’t feel anything, other than Bernie’s hand in hers and her eyes on her.

“Out of all the places to have an appendicitis…”

“At least I have you.” Bernie smiled softly at that, the kind of smile that could have numbed any pain she could still have had. Was the anaesthetics making her softer, or was Bernie always this irresistible?

She was fussing though, checking everything, offering to readjust her pillow, tucking her in, handing her water, a finger on her pulse which Serena suspected she didn’t even notice she was doing.

“Bernie?”

“Um?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” She paused. “I just want you to be comfortable. I haven’t seen you in months and now…”

“And now my body decides it’s time to go back to hospital.” She smiled. “Could you get me a few things?”

“Oh! Of course!”

“Good, you might want to make a list.”

“Ok.”

“Ready?”

Bernie brandished a pencil that had seen better days and a notebook that might has well have been stuck through a couple washing cycles at the back of one of her sinfully tight jeans.

“Ok, so, underwear, pyjamas, obviously, the basic stuff is pretty much… still packed in travel order.” Bernie nodded, scrawling notes as Serena spoke. “And I want you to take a nap, go and explore the village a bit, have a decent meal there, hell send me a picture of it, it might be the only decent food I get to see today. And run yourself a nice bath. When’s the last time you’ve done that?”

“With you?”

“That was months ago!”

“Well there’s no point without you, really.” Serena rolled her eyes playfully.

“There is, it’s called relaxing.”

“How do you expect you to relax while you’re here!”

“Are you suggesting our French colleagues are incompetent?”

“But I don’t want to leave you alone!”

Serena caught herself before she could point out she’d been alone for months. It had been a self-imposed exile, not something she could blame on Bernie, least of all her. Serena just sent her a look. The puppy look wouldn’t work on her this time.

“I take it you want a picture of the bath too?” Serena smiled suggestively. “Get your mind out of the gutter Campbell, I’m not risking anyone but you seeing what you have in mind.”

“Will you do this for me? Please?” Bernie bit her lip, looking away, still hesitant to go. “You can stay later.”

“I don’t think they’ll let me stay with you tonight. I can just go get your things, and do the exploring later. And the bath. And the nap, actually.”

“No, no, you’re doing the exploring now, you can have the nap later, in the bath knowing you. Oh, and buy food.”

“I don’t think they’ll let you have any.”

“Not for me, for you. You’re in France, I won’t have you eat leftovers when you have the gastronomical world at your feet.”

“Serena, I think those pain meds are hitting you a little harder than you realise.”

“Shoo!”

“Yes Ma’am!” Bernie did a full on salute which would most likely have worried a nurse had one been taking Serena’s temperature at the time.

God, she had missed this woman. Bernie turned toward her one last time before leaving the room, lingering for a second. To think they were so close once again… She looked down and glared in the general area where it had all started. Having Bernie there made all the difference.

 

It turned out to be a bit too much once Serena got out. She was very familiar with every order her doctors had given her, as was Bernie, who also remembered having had both her kids go through the same procedure. Charlotte hadn’t been a problem, but keeping Cameron in place had never been harder. She chose not to share that information with Serena in case she decided to emulate him. Better not give her any ideas.

As much as Serena enjoyed Bernie taking care of her, her not letting her do anything was starting to annoy her, if only because she knew for a fact her partner would never take the same care if it had been herself who’d just come out of the hospital.

She couldn’t help but wonder how things had gone after she had been blown back to England, in the days following her return home. Who had cared for her? After the past couple days, had anyone really bothered to show her just how glad they were she was alive, did she get those small moments with her children she cherished so much, had Marcus kept his distance the way Bernie had told her he normally did? For every small attention Serena wondered if Bernie had been treated to it.

Maybe it was just the novelty of being together again, away from Holby, away from work, but the doting was starting to make Serena feel self-conscious, and she knew she’d end up confronting Bernie about it.

Serena had found herself carefully bundled up on an armchair, Bernie perched on the arm rest in a position that just couldn’t be as comfortable as it looked, least of all for someone who’d been through what she’d been through.

“Bernie… I’m fine. Please… stop.”

“Stop what?” Serena loved the way Bernie scrunched up her face when she was puzzled, but now was not the time to be distracted by that.

“Stop doting on me! It’s making me feel useless, and old.” There, she had said it. She hadn’t expected the mixture of pain and what she suspected was concern in her partner’s eyes.

“Serena…” She let the last syllable trail on, swirling it around her mouth like a well-aged whisky. Again, that didn’t fare well for Serena’s feelings.

“You… You haven’t taken care of yourself, in months. Coming here, coming here was a huge step, for you, I know that. But look around you, look at this place. It makes you happy, it… it makes you lighter.” Bernie’s voice had grown softer than even the cuddly blanket Serena was bundled in.

“And you say you indulge yourself but that’s just it. All those things you do, you consider too much, like you don’t deserve them.” She paused again to move so she could face Serena more fully. “You deserve to be taken care of, Serena. You deserve…” Bernie ran out of words, she was never at ease with them.

“You deserve to be happy.” She almost didn’t catch Bernie’s words, and they hit her like a brick. No. Not anymore. She shook her head, tried to get up but couldn’t emerge from her blanket prison. Bernie helped her out of it and gathered her in her arms before she could flee.

She couldn’t see her face now, couldn’t see the look in her partner’s eyes, which was probably just as well. Her words alone made her shiver. The clouds that had massed over her had dissipated slightly during her stay in France, but it felt like Bernie had, in her own way, brought everything back.

“You have to let yourself live, Serena. Punishing yourself won’t bring her back.” In crossing the Channel it was something Serena had attempted to do, but she had to recognise that none of it truly felt right. The food smelled good but still tasted like ash half the time. The bird songs grated on her nerves after sleepless nights, and she had stopped going to the boulangerie too often after failing to force yet another smile on a bad day. But Bernie was here now, solid, warm, soft, and so loving it was almost unbearable.

She let the tears flow, knew Bernie was right but wasn’t sure she could face that truth. When she’d picked the house, she’d made sure it was well situated, had everything she’d need nearby. What she’d failed to notice was that the bedroom window had a view on a cemetery further down the valley. You couldn’t quite spot it at first, but once you knew it was there…

She’d gone there, once, while walking. She’d walked along the graves, read the names, often the same in a small village like that of course, some families had prospered over several generations here. Luckily she had found none bearing her little girl’s name. There was an Adrienne though, but it was a child’s grave, all small and white with a little angel perched on top of the cross.

She had spent a long time in front of it, long enough for the name and dates to blur in front of her eyes. It was only when the wooden gate had creaked as someone else had entered the cemetery that she had decided to move, making her way out, ignoring the local resident bearing water and garden shears.

She had almost told Bernie about it, that night, but had decided against it. She hadn’t told her about the view from the bedroom, if Bernie had noticed she hadn’t said a word. She was afraid Bernie might be tempted to close the blinds if she did, and she enjoyed the light flooding the room. It was all warm colours and throw pillows. Perfect for a recovery. Perfect for an exile.

She realised she’d been crying when she felt Bernie kiss the side of her head and sway them slightly. She really didn’t deserve that woman.

“What do you want us to do?” Bernie’s voice was small, like a secret whispered in her ear. This was their secret, in a way, their bubble. Bernie had brought with her the reality Serena had been running from, but also a reminder of what once was, what could be, and how good it felt to just be held by someone who wouldn’t let go at the first bump in the road.

Bernie had plunged head first into this unknown with her, for her. She’d missed her strong lone wolf, her soft lost puppy. She’d missed Bernie’s laugh and ridiculously strong coffee. She’d missed her calm, missed her tenderness, missed her love.

“Let’s go for a walk.” She’d whispered too. She wanted to walk with her again, wanted to hold her hand, knew it would make the steep trails easier, time pass quicker. She wouldn’t lead them toward the cemetery. They’d get there eventually. Maybe they could have a pain au chocolat on the way, maybe she’d smile without having to think about it. It was the small victories that gave her hope.

“Ok, but don’t forget your scarf!”

“Bernie!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

 

***** [(Music)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yF4YXv6ZIuE)  
  
Bernie’s arms were around her waist, holding her close, but not tight. Her breath was tickling her neck, her temple resting against hers. They were swaying gently, not quite to the rhythm, but to their own. It was syncopated, with some missteps and pauses, but it was theirs, and they didn’t let go. Bernie didn’t let go.

Bernie didn’t let go as she started crying. It was just a couple tears, at first, a hint of moisture that turned into torrents, a quiet sob that turned into tremors. Bernie didn’t say anything. She wanted Bernie to say something, wanted her to stop her, wanted her to pull away, but she didn’t. No matter how hard she cried, Bernie was there, holding her, swaying gently, keeping her up and moving. She knew Bernie would hold her until she was too exhausted to stand, knew she wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t ask.

Serena had put the cd on after finding it again at the back of her suitcase. She’d brought it over from England, a souvenir, something that tied her to both her mother and her daughter. She hadn’t really meant to listen to it, but with Bernie there, she’d thought… She’d thought maybe sharing it with her would quieten the pain, but it hadn’t.

She had melted in her arms through the first track, clung to her through the second, and by the third her heart was being torn apart by every single key stroke. The piano was uncoiling the grief that had tightened its hold on her. Every note hit a chord, resonating through her like the strongest drums. It was the voice that did her in. As it rose she felt her breath hitch, the aria flying over them to take over the room. There was a grandeur there that she felt put her own achievements to shame, much like her mother liked to remind her. There was an ease, a joyfulness and playfulness that reminded her of Elinor, the high notes rising ever higher until they died, too soon, too abruptly.

She wanted it to end but was caught in the movement. Her forehead rested on Bernie’s shoulder, she felt her turn and kiss the side of her head. The tears had stopped flowing, but the weight was still there. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was moving her feet, not sure how she was still solid enough for Bernie to hold, yet hold she did.

She looked up, pressed their foreheads together as she closed her eyes again, not sure whether she was shielding herself from Bernie’s love, or shielding Bernie from her pain.

Bernie had been leading, sufficiently aware of her surroundings for them to find themselves by the cd player at the end of the track. How Bernie had timed it, how she knew the piece, was something Serena was happy to leave as being part of her magic.

The silence that followed was deafening. They weren’t moving anymore, the stillness felt like a prison, yet Serena couldn’t move away. When Bernie did she put her fingers under Serena’s chin, looked at her with a softness in her eyes that made Serena shiver, and kissed her chastely.

“Tea?” She had taken her hand and didn’t let go until they’d reached the kitchen. She filled the kettle, located two mugs and gently wrapped Serena in her arms again. Serena burrowed there, seeking strength in her strength, feeling her heart beat and willing to follow its tempo. A Major key was what she needed right now.

 

*  
Having Guinevere around made them feel old. Not because she was the second generation, but quite simply because they couldn’t quite keep up. Running a ward was fine and good, but wards tended to calm down after a bit, whereas the smallest Haynes rarely ever stopped.

The only time she did, when she was with them, was when Bernie picked her up and she agreed to take a nap. The nap lasted between ten seconds and half an hour, depending on how much they’d managed to tire her out. As much as she’d go for the both of them for hugs, it was inevitably Bernie she chose as pillow, a choice Serena could only second. Which was all fine and good, save for the fact that Bernie’s back wasn’t too keen.

Since that morning she’d fought with the wheelie bin, pushed a swing more times than she remembered ever doing despite having had two young kids of her own, patiently attempted to braid the little girl’s hair, patience not being a virtue Guinevere had just yet, and now carried her sleepy grandniece whose yawn announced an imminent nap.

“Alright darling?” Serena’s words, soft and warm, made her smile. Bernie nodded quickly.

“Just my back playing up a bit. Worth it though.” They looked at Guinevere dozed off.

“Massage later?”

“Yes please?” Bernie all but melted at the thought. Serena’s fingers were skilled in more ways than one.

“Jason should be here in half an hour. I’ll make us some tea.”

  
Once they had the house to themselves again, comfortably nestled in the sofa with drinks that had somehow turned to wine, Serena ran her hand along her partner’s neck and saw her smile blissfully.

“As much as I enjoy getting to massage you, maybe you should see a physiotherapist.”

Bernie made a face.

“I thought you enjoyed it!”

“I do! But you probably need it more often than I offer, I know you won’t ask unless it’s really bad, and I don’t think Guinevere is going to grow calmer any time soon.”

“Well she’ll be too heavy to lift soon enough.” The thought made Bernie pout.

“As if you wouldn’t push yourself just to be able to hoist her on the swing.” Bernie pouted a little more.

“If I promise to think about it, will you help just this time?” Bernie’s puppy look made Serena roll her eyes and kiss her.

“This time and every other time. No wine in the bedroom though! You know what that does to the sheets.”

“As if I’m the one responsible for that!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Drink up Campbell, and come work your magic on me!”

“I thought I’d already done that!” Bernie kissed her and they lingered. She’d take a bad back if it meant having such an amazing woman with her for the rest of her life.

“You’re the one dealing with the bins next time though!”


End file.
